| Up For Adoption |
| Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3 Hands :: Three Buff: NOVICE |
| Adoptable |
I would be lying through my teeth if I said I enjoyed the large, frosted horn that protruded from my head. In fact, I despised it. Sure, back in my little town, horns were the thing. If you had a horn, you had a name. It meant that the gods favored you. Honestly though, I would prefer to be an equine. I wanted to not have to worry about a giant horn getting tangled up, and I could fit into more places. The lack of a horn just made more sense to me.
So here I was, in this incredibly infuriating, and cold place. The world around me took a darker turn as I ventured away from the barren threshold. Everything seemed to be consumed by some sort of etherial creature. It was all so... depressing. Which was the last thing I needed at this point, I was already so close to wanting it to be all over already. A shudder ran over my greying body as the winter wind decided to cool me off.
Finally, after my feet began to ache I was able to find a little opening in the ground. I barely would've noticed it, if it were not for the horrid stench of what seemed to be millions of horses emanating from it. I slid down the rocky face until it flattered into a large, rocky room. A heaved a huge sigh, sticking close to an empty corner. It seemed as if there was nothing here for me, as usual, I was probably going to have to hit the high road again. Fan-freaking-tastic.
@[Tyradon]
| Hidden Account |
| Stallion :: Equine :: 17'2 :: 14 Buff: NOVICE |
|
Cynder :: Common Green Dragon :: Fire Breath
Snow |
YOU ARE THE KING OF AN ISLAND OF ONEUnicorn.
It is almost as though he can sense the abomination; the caves reek with the stench of the horned scum, and the massive stallion's nostrils flare as they drink in the foul aroma. On his shoulders, the green war-dragon squawks her mutual displeasure - after eight years of sharing a mind with Tyradon, Cynder has picked up his racism like an infection. She knows not why she must kill anything with a horn or wings, she simply knows it is the right thing to do, because the black warlord told her so and his word is gospel. His hatred has taken her over, and he feels a shudder spread down her spine at the notion of tasting inferior blood again. They haven't fought since her regression to a hatchling, as the leviathan feared she would get hurt, but she needed to test herself again sooner or later.
With that in mind, he begins to advance towards the abomination. Over the last eight months, he has learnt to control his desire to kill anything that wasn't equine; he couldn't march into battle every minute when he had a weak, regressed dragon. But when he sees the unicorn, when he tastes its foul stench on his tongue, he can barely stop himself from closing the distance between them and crushing its skull beneath his battering-ram hooves. It is a mare, and the warbringer wonders how many mongrel foals have fled her womb. He shifts closer, gargantuan form seeming to fill the cave as he glowers over at the mare. On his back Cynder rears high, a tower of smoke rising from her nostrils to fog the roof of the cavern. "You are wrong," he hisses, the words slipping from his muzzle like a benediction. Perhaps he is trying to provoke the mare - if she attacks him and he slays her in self-defence, it does not break his promise to control himself until Cynder is fully-grown again. Loopholes.
ALL ALONE IN A WORLD THAT LOST ITS ONLY BLACK SUN |
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